A Question of Time.
As if the day, were that once before day,
Eternal day, or just that first, human day,
Could be this day more than but erased
Until now & this memory mere nostalgia.
Indeed that day was but human, as now, a
Question of time, look backwards, it’s said.
Count the light years, whilst predicated dead,
Multiply into eternal multiple diversity,
Variety, assortment, many-ness, plurality.
& this day so fresh & new, what of its fate?
Day of air & mist, of brick & broken bucket
At the gate, a winding blue polythene sheet,
A door swung on a hinge, a whitewashed wall,
Is time, naked, a shadow, does it fall, or, not all?